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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123316">a flicker in darkness, a spark in the universe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceverse/pseuds/graceverse'>graceverse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jonsa Drabble Fest 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon - TV, Drabble Collection, F/M, Jonsa Drabble Fest, Sort Of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:48:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,498</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceverse/pseuds/graceverse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is like an arrow wedged inside his heart. The pain of it will never go away, would not be forgotten; but it will fade, like her memory, like everything that they have shared together. </p><p>It is already fading.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jonsa Drabble Fest 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Campfire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They are sitting around a campfire, the first summer night, as promised by Bran, is warm. Warmer than anything he could remember. Winter feels like a dream. A different life. But the half burnt Winterfell, a slumped shadow, a slumbering animal lying against a sky filled with stars is proof enough that winter has come and with it the Night Walkers, the Dragons, the end of the Targaryens.</p><p>War has taken lives and homes. The losses have been staggering, but the Starks have always endured and so on the first sign of spring, the wolves returned. Bran from King’s Landing, Arya from her adventures beyond the Narrow Sea and Jon exiled from Beyond the Wall, pardoned by Bran, summoned by the Queen in the North.</p><p>
  <em>The Queen in the North</em>
</p><p>Jon has not seen her in so long. The tension between them throbs, like a heart suddenly beating back to life. He sits across from her and between them, the fire dances, leaps, flickers. The play of shadow and light does strange things to her face. It softens and blurs her for a moment and then the next, she becomes a sharp outline. She is bird boned, delicate but the shine in her eyes is feral, like a wolf lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for her prey. A dove and a wolf. A Queen and a cousin.</p><p>A flame jumps up. It lights her whole face. She is looking at him, brave and nervous, defiant and shy. Her lips are slightly parted and Jon feels the dryness of his mouth as he flicks his eyes up to meet hers. The red of hair changes and it reminds him of Ygritte.</p><p>Jon is no longer young and naïve. He acknowledges this wound that had festered and poisoned him for a while. It had healed but he carried it with him still: Ygirtte's loss.</p><p>It is like an arrow wedged inside his heart. The pain of it will never go away, would not be forgotten; but it will fade, like her memory, like everything that they have shared together.</p><p>
  <em>It is already fading. </em>
</p><p>Jon shakes his head, tries to ignore the way his heart lurches at this revelation. Everything that had happened before he had died and was brought back to life, it all feels muddled somehow. Unreal.  He hates the Red Witch for stealing that from him; the redness of Ygritte's hair, was it like the flames of the fire? Or darker? Like the afternoon sun already dipping down from the horizon?</p><p>He cannot truly remember all he knows is that it isn’t like the copper shine of Sansa’s hair. Which he likes very much to wrap around his fist. He wonders if his time Beyond the Wall, without his family, neither Stark nor Targaryen, not a King and not a Brother of the Night’s Watch – just Jon – if it is enough. If he is already forgiven. If it is time to ask her: <em>shall I steal you tonight?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stolen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It has not taken her by surprise. Not at all. Not with the way he had looked at her from the moment he arrived from Beyond the Wall. And certainly not by how she had shamelessly enjoyed his lingering, searching gaze. His dark eyes were familiar but this time there was an open defiance in the way he regarded her. A silent acknowledgement: yes, I know. I feel it too. </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It has not taken her by surprise. Not at all. Not with the way he had looked at her from the moment he arrived from Beyond the Wall. And certainly not by how she had shamelessly enjoyed his lingering, searching gaze. His dark eyes were familiar but this time there was an open defiance in the way he regarded her. A silent acknowledgement: <em>yes, I know. I feel it too.</em> </p><p>Sansa had felt her skin prickling, her cheeks warming up. From her side, Ghost had stirred and looked up at her, as though his wolf ears had heard the way her heart was beating inside her chest. Rapidly, like the wings of a bird taking flight.</p><p>He is still Jon. He will always be Jon. But the time they have spent apart have changed them both. They say time heal all wounds, but she has learned that it isn’t entirely true. <em>Some </em>wounds but not all. Not the wound that she had secretly carried when Jon had chosen to fight in King’s Landing with Daenerys.</p><p>What time truly does, is it makes you older. Wiser. More forgiving.</p><p>She had thought that with both time and distance, whatever it was that had sprung between them – these feelings that they could neither name nor understand – would have faded, would have turned back to brotherly and sisterly affection.</p><p>It did not. It had grown, quietly, taking roots, planting itself firmly inside her. She could no longer deny it. To do so would be to a betrayal of the worst of kind. It will be like turning her back against truth and hope and joy. It will be as if she had never learned anything at all and all the years of pain and suffering will be for nothing.</p><p>So she makes the first move, she is a queen after all.</p><p>She catches him admiring the newly fixed glasshouse – her first project and she is incredibly proud of it. He does not turn around when she steps in, keeping the door open, letting the warm summer air settle around them. But he does wrap her hair around his fist, his hand pressing against her chest. He is looking at her as though he could hear her heart beating and maybe he does.</p><p>He tugs gently but his mouth is urgent, demanding. There is no hesitation and awkwardness. There is only want and need and desires finally fulfilled. Sansa presses closer and Jon pulls her up to him until she is breathless. A different kind of staving fills her up and she knows that Jon feels it too as he lets a low, ragged growl when they finally had to part, take great big gulping breaths of air into their lungs.</p><p>It does not take Jon by surprise either. He confesses he would have done something else if she had not.</p><p>“I suppose a queen can steal a wildling for herself.”</p><p>“Aye. I would be honored to be stolen by the Queen in the North.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Beyond the Wall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The wolves had only bid their time. And now, amends would truly be made. A new legacy will be founded and it will start Beyond the Wall.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It did not take much to convince Arya to let him take Sansa Beyond the Wall. Arya is more than happy to be rid of them. She has had the misfortune of walking in on them – Sansa was merely sitting on his lap, their foreheads resting together – but it was enough for Arya to make them swear under the pain of death that they will now lock the door of any room they will find themselves in. Arya did not care if they are organizing books or writing letters: once they stepped inside a room, the first thing they will do is to bolt the door.</p><p>“We were not even doing anything.” Jon reminds her for what feels like a hundredth time.</p><p>“Just give her a little bit of time until she gets accustomed to this – to your –” Gendry fumbles for the right words. “A few weeks away from Winterfell should do that. Right?”</p><p>Arya sends a withering glare in Gendry’s direction. “A whole lifetime would be far more ideal.”</p><p>Jon tries to keep his face neutral. He will have to agree with everything that Arya tells him to make up for what Arya describes as the gods’ cruel and unusual punishment. Jon knows that Arya and Sansa have already discussed this, maturely it seems, since no hair pulling or even screaming had occurred. It is possible that Arya is just teasing him and making him unnecessarily suffer.</p><p>Sansa laughs – and he loves it so, making her laugh, the sound it makes, it is like a sweet gentle weight settling on his heart that had once felt so terrifyingly empty and dead – as she mock whispers: “Please, don’t fall for that. Arya is more than happy to be left here in Winterfell with Gendry. She would not have to worry about locking doors herself.”</p><p>It is Jon’s turn to send a withering glance at Gendry’s direction who quickly averts his eyes. Arya raises a defiant eyebrow at him, daring him to say something.</p><p>“It will have to be done anyway, to consolidate the whole North. As what we have always planned.” Bran looks at Sansa and then at Arya, who both silently acknowledges the statement with a short, quick nod of their own.</p><p>Jon is unaware that there were plans of that sort but he understood instantly.</p><p>
  <em>The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. </em>
</p><p>Even before he had been exiled, this was what the children of Ned Stark had set out to do. They knew Jon would never willingly leave his exile, nor would he have allowed his punishment to be so short. They all had to suffer through those months of being all by themselves, facing the world alone. Learning to accept the part they had played in reshaping the kingdom. But it was never meant to be something permanent.</p><p>The wolves had only bid their time. And now, amends would truly be made. A new legacy will be founded and it will start Beyond the Wall.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, it looks like this is going to be some sort of fixer upper for the travesty of that final episode. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Hidden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>How long have they hidden away from this? </p><p>From the moment you came back to me. Even when it was wrong. Even when I had thought you were a sister to me. It had not repulsed me, Sansa. It made me feel alive.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A small entourage from Winterfell travelled with them. He’d sent word to Tormund to let him know that they were coming. The journey had been easy, uneventful. No snowstorm to hamper them, no treacherous icy lakes to cross, now that summer has arrived.</p><p>What was Beyond the Wall had always lain hidden. When Jon had discovered it, he wished not to tame it nor claim it for his own. He dreamt of sharing it with Sansa, showing her its unrestrained wildness. In his many fantasies, they always rode in one horse: her body pressed against his, her warmth seeping into him. He could so very easily dip his head; kiss the exposed skin of her neck.  </p><p>One day, Jon thinks to himself, he’ll find a reasonable excuse why they need to share a horse, for now, he lets himself enjoy the way her hair shimmers and glows, catching the light from the sun. He rides close to her, drinking in the look of wonder in her face, her wide blue eyes roaming through the land, taking in rugged snowcapped mountains, the endless sky above them.</p><p>Sansa had been pleasantly surprised to find patches of snow on the ground, winter flowers still blooming despite the summer heat that had started to crawl and swell across the Kingdom. The Stark colors ruled here: grey with hints of pale blue, the color of freshly fallen snow. Here, the air was still cool and it made for wonderful nights of sitting by the campfire, her hands clasped inside his, hidden beneath the wool blankets draped around themselves.</p><p>Some nights, they’d share a tent. They would spend it blissfully wrapped around each other. All those many months that he had spent missing her, desiring her, denying his feelings, cursing himself for his weakness, for losing her again and again – all of that had melted away.</p><p>All it took was a single touch: fingertips light and shy and then slowly, briefly palm to palm, his hand sliding down to wrap around her delicate wrist, her pulse jumping beneath her skin.</p><p>How long have they hidden away from this? <em>From the moment you came back to me. Even when it was wrong. Even when I had thought you were a sister to me. It had not repulsed me, Sansa. It made me feel alive. </em></p><p>She takes this confession in silence, her blue eyes dark as the night that surrounded them. But the way her mouth descends upon him, open and hungry, like a wolf devouring a throbbing secret heart, Jon knows she had felt the same way.</p><p>Those nights together, it was like rediscovering her: the scent of her hair, now tinged with the smell of pine, sharp and sweet. He would move his nose tracing the line of her neck and it always, always makes her sigh: that soft wonderful exhale of breath that he would always, always try to swallow down.</p><p>What was hidden once now revealed and Jon thinks that he is finally free.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Winterfell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They are like Winterfell. They have withstood pain, betrayal and loses. Now it is time to heal.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are no songs about Winterfell, not even about the return of the Starks.</p><p>It isn’t that she had forbidden songs to be written or sung, but it brought painful memories. She would like to have a ballad for father and mother, for the brothers they have lost, for those who had come back home. Once they have rebuilt Winterfell: the scars of battles no longer visible, the empty chambers cleared of ashes, broken wood and shattered glasses, a song would be nice.</p><p>They are like Winterfell. They have withstood pain, betrayal and loses. Now it is time to heal.</p><p>“What are you thinking of, wife?”</p><p>Sansa is thrilled by how wonderful it sounds. Better than <em>Your Grace</em> or <em>My Queen</em>. It is simple and true but it held a certain possessiveness without claiming possession.</p><p>Well, at least she was his wife here, Beyond the Wall. Ceremonies had not been necessary. It only took Tormund’s bellowed announcement that The Queen in the North had stolen the King Beyond the Wall.</p><p>“I am no King.” Jon argued before glancing at her, his whole face suddenly enflamed. “But aye, it is true, I have been stolen by Sansa Stark.”</p><p>There were no questions of what it would mean for the people living under the protection of Jon Snow, there was only wild cheering and boisterous joshing about. It had seemed that Jon had lived a joyless, solitary life during his exile. Tormund had wanted to give her all the gory details, but Jon, still blushing and chuckling had pulled Sansa away, “Do not listen to him.”</p><p>“It is true, he had been a miserable, wretched Bastard King Crow.”</p><p>“A what?” Sansa was almost giggling, something about the lack of formality of the people around her was freeing.</p><p>“Tormund!”</p><p>“Fine. But I shall ask for an audience with her, I know how it is done with you kneelers!”</p><p>That had been a week ago. An audience with her had been given. They have started the discussion of integrating the The North and the True North, as Tormund had insisted on calling it. “There is no more Wall, it is a stupid name: Beyond the Wall.”</p><p>Together, Sansa had promised them: united, our people sharing everything, protecting, taking care of each other.</p><p>“I am thinking of Winterfell.” Sansa answers, pulled back to present as Jon nuzzles his nose into her neck. A habit he had formed it seems.</p><p>Jon tightens his hold around her, his skin wonderfully hot. “You wish to go home?”</p><p>“Not yet. But soon.”</p><p>“Aye, Winterfell has always been home. And I so do wish to make you mine in front of the weir tree.”</p><p>Sansa’s breath hitches. She turns around so that they are facing each other. “Jon, I-”</p><p>“If that is what you want.”</p><p>“It is.” She wonders how he could have known. The childish, precious dreams of her heart.</p><p>“Then that is what we shall do, wife.”</p><p>And that is her answer. Because it is Jon.</p><p>“Thank you, husband.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Autumn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summer went by quickly. The air became crisp, blessedly cool; foliage turned and changed. Almost overnight, the North becomes a land carpeted by sunlight and gold.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Summer went by quickly. The air became crisp, blessedly cool; foliage turned and changed. Almost overnight, the North becomes a land carpeted by sunlight and gold.</p><p>His boots crunches on fallen leaves. Ghost, padding beside him makes no sound. He glances at his companion, satisfied that he’s carefully carrying the package entrusted to him.</p><p>As though reading his mind, the direwolf huffs. Jon chuckles and scratches the back of Ghost’s ears, a silent apology.</p><p>He meant to go directly to the godswood, but he had paused to admire Winterfell. It is no longer the castle of his youth, it has become bigger: turrets and chambers added, the Broken Tower no longer broken. A new hall had been built to replace the one destroyed during the Battle of Winterfell.</p><p>It is a sight to behold, or so he had been told. Large enough to accommodate the growing number of Lords and Ladies, houses and wildling that have come to Winterfell to take their oaths: protect the land, defend its people, uphold truth and justice, under the guidance of their Queen. Arya named it <strong><em>Wolf Hall</em></strong>.</p><p>Sansa has written all these to him. It made him homesick. He had been travelling across the land, his official duty as Lord Protector of the True North. Tormund thinks it is a mouthful but Jon is done with kingship. He is more than happy to serve his Queen.</p><p>He has a surprise for her and he is so very eager to see her, to wrap his arms around her, inhale the scent of lemon and honey – of home – that clings to her hair and skin. He wants to taste her again. It has been too long.  </p><p>He finds her sitting beneath the weir tree, the red leaves and her hair reflected upon the glass pond. This is how he will always remember autumn. He stands still for a while, relishing this feeling of completeness, after all those weeks of missing her. Ghost isn’t one for sentimental nonsense, he runs up to Sansa, dropping the bundle at her feet.</p><p>Sansa greets Ghosts, her fingers delving deep into his fur, warm and soft. Jon has to close his eyes because he feels it too. Ghost is greedy, he ends up licking Sansa’s face.</p><p>“Stop that!” Jon wants to kiss her first, which he does as soon as he reaches her. The kiss is long and deep not very Lordly or Queenly, but they don’t care. Her face is flushed, the roundness of her cheeks makes him want to bend down and playfully bite her. He would have if it not for the small yipping sound that broke the silence.</p><p>Sansa looks down, gasps in surprise. A direwolf puppy. His surprise for her.</p><p>There are tears in her eyes as she clutches his hand and so very gently places it on her stomach. And Jon knows – <em>feels </em>it. He stares at his wife, tears of joy streaming down her face.</p><p>It seems, this autumn is full of surprises.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Always and Forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Winter arrives. It sparks fear, uncertainty. But for the North it is a promise made and kept. A thousand years ago and a thousand years into the future, winter will come and with it, the lessons of endurance, courage, hope and the wait for spring, summer, autumn. A new year to come, another cycle, another promise fulfilled.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>a flicker in darkness, a spark in the universe</p><p>Winter arrives. It sparks fear, uncertainty. But for the North it is a promise made and kept. A thousand years ago and a thousand years into the future, winter will come and with it, the lessons of endurance, courage, hope and the wait for spring, summer, autumn. A new year to come, another cycle, another promise fulfilled.</p><p>-</p><p>Jon Stark’s hair has streaks of grey. It came on suddenly. Though he feels it could have started turning when the hand of their fifth and youngest daughter had been asked for marriage.</p><p>It takes him by surprise when he glanced at his reflection in a looking glass. He went thundering around Winterfell, looking for the Queen. He found her holding an audience at Wolf Hall. He shifted from foot to foot, impatient but mindful of her responsibilities. She likes to finish all the day’s tasks before midday.</p><p>His wife is good at this. Efficient. A Queen born from experience.</p><p>Her work makes her glow. A light inside of her shining through as she speaks to her people, the Lords and Ladies representing the houses pledged and protected under the Stark banner. Jon loves nothing more than to watch her at the end of the day, head bent, lips moving slowly as she made her List. She crosses and adds things before going to bed, so that when she wakes up, everything is organized. All she’d need to do was tackle it with her usual capable self.</p><p>It is an aphrodisiac.  </p><p>By the time she dismisses everyone Jon could not help but blurt out: “I have grey hair!”</p><p>Sansa laughs at him, reaching a hand out so that she could twist her fingers at the cause of his distress. “I know Jon.”</p><p>“You didn’t tell me!” He wasn’t particularly vain about his looks. He’d not been bothered by the many scars running across his face. It made him look menacing. Sometimes, menacing had its benefits. But his hair – Sansa loves his hair! She is always touching it: gently twirling around her fingers, giving it a sharp yank that never fails to make his heart explode in pleasure-pain. It was the one Stark quality he had – something he had gotten from his mother, something that tied him to Eddard Stark. And now it is going grey!</p><p>Sansa did not seem at all bothered. “It is a good sign, husband.”</p><p>Jon is startled to see the brightness in her eyes. The familiar shine of it, he knows them to be tears of joy, of relief and he realizes that she is right. His grey hair is a mark, a moment to cherish. It means that they have grown old together. It is a promise of more years ahead of them, a life shared always and forever.  </p><p>“And,” She tugs him closer; her mouth hovering so very near his ear, “it looks good on you.”</p><p>“Does it?” Jon asks, bending down to greedily claim her lips.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading. I hope you have enjoyed the drabbles :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ah! Finally doing - well, writing that is - something worthwhile during this quarantine. I hope you all enjoy the drabbles. Only the jonsa community can inspire me back to writing.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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